Little did I know, the chaos of that first day was only the beginning… and Willowbrook had a way of wrapping comfort and confusion together in equal measure.
Thanks to Grandma's brave talk earlier, I told her she didn't need to pick me up from school. I'd memorized the way by heart, and the school wasn't that far from home anyway. It didn't seem like a big deal.
Our town, Willowbrook, though small, it contained my whole world.
Every morning, I walked the same cracked pavement that led to school, my backpack bumping against me with each step. The air always smelled faintly of dew and the bakery down the street. Mrs. Halpern opened her shop at exactly seven, like she had for a hundred years, and the scent of fresh bread always drifted into the road, soft and warm, like a promise that the day wouldn't be all that bad.
On the corner, the willow trees swayed lazily, brushing the ground like they were tired of standing. Grandma used to say they remembered everything. Every secret, every heartbreak, every goodbye this town had ever seen. Sometimes I believed her. There was something about the way their branches moved, slow and sorrowful, that made me feel like Willowbrook was alive and listening.
The houses here looked almost the same. Pale paint, white fences, flower boxes that bloomed in spring and wilted by summer. People waved from their porches, coffee in hand, pretending not to notice how time seemed to stand still here. In Willowbrook, nothing ever really changed. The same families, the same routines, the same sky. Maybe that's why it felt safe. Or maybe that's why it felt suffocating.
I didn't know it then, but every corner of this place would become a memory I'd ache for. The river where I'd throw stones to make wishes. The old oak near the Carter's backyard that held a treehouse, and a thousand secrets. Back then, Willowbrook was just… home.
Now, it feels like a ghost I still talk to sometimes.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
That evening, the sun poured golden light through the living room windows as I sat cross-legged on the rug. I could hear the clatter of keys at the door. The familiar sound of my dad's whistle came next: sharp, cheerful, and slightly off-key.
"Ash?" he called.
I didn't answer right away.
My mom followed him in. She looked tired; her smile was warm but worn at the edges.
"There's our brave schoolboy!" Dad declared dramatically as he dropped his briefcase like it had personally offended him.
I didn't feel brave.
Mostly I felt… tired. And a little weird.
Mom crouched in front of me, brushing her fingers across my cheek.
"We're so sorry we couldn't take you this morning, honey. We wanted to…"
"It's okay," I said quickly.
They both looked relieved and guilty, like I'd just forgiven them for a war crime.
Dad ruffled my hair.
"Did you make any friends?"
I shrugged.
"Anyone interesting?" Mom asked, hope bubbling in her voice.
I thought of the unicorn girl. The crayon. The accusation.
Fungus boy.
"I met a girl," I mumbled.
Their eyebrows shot up in identical twin arches.
"Oooh," Dad teased. "A girl on day one? That's my boy!"
"Did you like her?" Mom asked, already smirking.
I scowled. "She called me a fungus."
There was a pause.
Then Mom burst into laughter.
Even Dad tried to stifle a chuckle.
"She sounds... imaginative," Mom said, trying to keep a straight face.
"She's a menace," I muttered.
A loud crash interrupted our conversation as something hit the hallway floor. A sippy cup rolled dramatically across the tiles like a grenade.
And then came the chaos tornado himself: Josh.
Two years old. Pants on backwards. A diaper slightly too full.
Sticky fingers. Wild curls. No concept of physics or personal space.
He toddled in with a war cry of "AAASHHHHHH!!" and launched himself into my lap like a jelly cannonball.
"Oof…Josh!"
He giggled and tried to stick his fingers up my nose.
I wrangled him off and onto the floor, where he immediately began chewing on the tail of his stuffed penguin.
"He missed you," Mom said softly, smiling.
Josh tried to feed me the penguin.
"I think it's already been fed," I told him.
We had spaghetti for dinner. I got to sprinkle the cheese. Josh got it in his hair.
My parents asked more questions, some I answered, some I didn't.
And all the while, I kept thinking of a girl with war-ready pigtails and a unicorn with five legs.
That night, I sat at my desk with my drawing pad.
I tried to sketch her.
It didn't look much like her. Too many teeth. A head that was mostly forehead.
I added bunny ears and labeled it Definitely Not a Fungus.
Then I shut the book and stuffed it under my bed, confused about everything.
Life didn't flash before my eyes that day.
But something did.
A flicker.
A spark.
A tiny, unsettling whisper in my chest that said, This girl will matter.
And she did.
More than I could ever imagine.
More than I could survive.
Epilogue
If I'd known then what she would become to me…
the ache in my bones, the weight behind every word I'd ever write…
maybe I wouldn't have asked for that crayon.
Maybe I would've walked away.
But fate doesn't give you warnings.
It gives you surprises, hopes, and dreams of a golden future.
And then it watches as you fall.